


A consummation devoutly to be wished

by noxelementalist



Category: Slings & Arrows
Genre: Banter, Dubious Morality, M/M, Theater - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 08:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19786822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxelementalist/pseuds/noxelementalist
Summary: “I mean, seriously, you really trying to tell me you haven’t christened this couch yet?”





	A consummation devoutly to be wished

**Author's Note:**

> Written because I can. It’s a pairing that intrigues me, and I doubt anyone’s ever going to prompt for it. Title is taken from the famed Hamlet “<https://www.shakespeare-navigators.com/hamlet/H31.html>” soliloquy (Hamlet, III.i.56-90.)

“Hi Geoffrey,” a youthful voice said. “Have you see Ellen anywhere?”

“No Sloan, I can’t say I have,” Geoffrey said absentmindedly. He was walking through the halls behind the theater, trying to see if anyone was still lingering in their dressing rooms since the _Hamlet_ performance had finished for the day. So far the only person Geoffrey had found was his own reflection and now the moto-cross racer he kept trying to forget Ellen was seeing.

“I did hear her mention something about going with Kate for a nightcap at the theater bar.”

“Kate?”

“She’s the actress playing Ophelia,” Geoffrey explained. “Ellen played Ophelia a-a long time ago, and she thought she and Kate should go out and bond some.”

“…Right.”

Something in the tone of the younger man’s voice made Geoffrey pause long enough to turn around and ask him the question that years of seeking psychiatric help- and work at the Theater Sans Argent- had made Geoffrey realize somebody should’ve asked him before he’d cast himself into an actor’s stage grave. “Are you okay?”

Geoffrey watched as Sloan slumped against the wall. “I dunno?” Sloan admitted, crossing his arms against his chest. “I thought we were cool, but she hasn’t wanted to hang out lately and she missed my last race day. Things feel sucky.”

Geoffrey looked over the other man. _Sloan still looks mostly put together, so things can’t be all that bad_ , he thought privately to himself, noticing the moto-crosser had managed to coordinate his dark jeans and boots with a leather jacket and a tan t-shirt.

“Ellen’s always had a habit of showing up late,” Geoffrey said to him carefully. “And we _are_ in the middle of opening week—”

“What do you mean?”

“Excuse me?”

Sloan rolled his eyes. “You guys opened last week!” he complained.

“No. No, that was dress.”

“Dress? What the hell is _dress?_ ”

“Racers have trial runs before the race starts, right?”

“Cha- _duh_ ,” Sloan said, uncrossing his arms as he stood up. “We get a few trial runs to figure out the course. Sometimes even do a preview run.”

“We do too. They’re called dress rehearsals, or ‘dress,’” Geoffrey explained. “We do them before we open the actual show.”

“Ah.”

“Normally we’d also do a week of previews for promotional reasons, but they cut us off after- Sloan,” Geoffrey asked suddenly. “Has Ellen talked with you about… _anything_ we do here?”

Sloan shook his head. “Not much besides, it’s a play, she’s acting in it, and not to bug her backstage ‘cause she gets heinous stage fright. I kept asking,” Sloan admitted, kicking absently at the floor, “but before we’d be getting all—”

“—I seriously don’t need to know—”

“—and now we’re not doing _that_ , and it’s not even a race day!” Sloan continued, sounding frustrated. “It’s all so _bogus_ , man.”

“Yes, it is,” Geoffrey said. “I- hey, you got a minute?”

Sloan scoffed. “Looks like it.”

“Good, come with me,” Geoffrey said, putting an arm around the other man.

“Where’re we going?”

“I’m supposed to be checking the theater’s clear since we’ve locked up, but instead, _I_ am going to give _you_ a basic rundown,” Geoffrey told him as he half pushed Sloan around the corner towards the stage stair doors.

“For real?”

“You know it.”

“Even though I’m not an actor.”

“ _Especially_ because you’re not an actor.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Geoffrey said as they reached the stairs. “I know _exactly_ what it’s like to be driven mad by Ellen, and _we_ spoke the same language.”

“Right, you dated her too,” Sloan said, sounding to Geoffrey like he had somehow forgotten that fact.

_It must be great not to be reminded of your horrible, tragic past every day of your life,_ Geoffrey thought to himself. _You’d have so little to have to keep track of._ “Yes, yes I did,” he said aloud, quickly running up the stairs to push the stage door open.

“Alright, Ellen-boyfriend bonding time, I can dig it,” Sloan said.

Geoffrey watched as Sloan sauntered up the steps. _He looks like Gonzalo_ , Geoffrey reflected.

Gonzalo had been a year below Geoffrey in college, a true-blood Spaniard with coloring Geoffrey’s classmates would compare to trés lechés cake and chocolate flan. The guy would walk around like he wanted to be eaten, and had a habit of snagging up all the castings for romantic leads, especially if it was a musical. Darren had cast him six times in his work, a record that had bordered on scandalous.

Geoffrey had been incredibly satisfied when he’d heard Gonzalo had flunked out and gone into stand-up comedy instead.

“You can call it that if you like,” Geoffrey said, letting the stage door fall shut behind him as he walked onto the stage.

“What would you call it?”

“…payback for the broken pig?”

Sloan grinned. “Man I thought that was me punching you.”

“I thought it was you punching Darren Nichols, but tomatoes, tomawtoes. So, here’s the stage.”

“No duh.”

“And just like you racers go along a track—“

“It is way more than a track, it’s a _course_ —“

“—fine, the _course_ ,” Geoffrey corrected himself, “we move along the whole world that is on the stage grid.”

“… Huh?”

“The part closest to the audience is downstage,” Geoffrey continued, gesturing as he spoke. “The part farthest is upstage, anywhere the audience can’t go but is still in the theater is backstage, anywhere the audience can’t see but is still in the _building_ is offstage, and the center’s center stage. Left is anything to the left when you’re looking at the audience, right is anything to the right. Questions?”

“What if the folks are, like, 360-ing around you?”

“Somebody will tell you.”

“What would you say?”

_Of course he’d ask that._ “Personally, I use the main theater doors,” Geoffrey told him. “They’re huge, which makes it so much easier to find the emergency exits when you need to run away from the audience.”

Sloan blinked. “Run a lot?”

“You have no idea,” Geoffrey stated. “Um, roles! I don’t actually know how moto folks divide—”

“Crew, roadies, manager, agents, drivers. Fans. The basics.”

“Right. Here we have producers, directors, cast, and crew, and hopefully fans if we do everything right,” Geoffrey explained. “Producers raise the money to get us the theater and pay us for doing our jobs. Mostly it’s from merchandise, sponsorships, advertisements, ticket sales, and grants.”

“So they’re like your guys’ agents?” Sloan asked as he walked across the stage.

“They’re the _company’s_ agent, not ours.”

“Gotcha.”

“Directors, like me, get people organized and tell them what to do.”

“Sweet.”

“Can be until they turn on you.”

“Like you and Nichols?”

Geoffrey grinned. “Yes,” he said, walking over towards where Sloan stood, “but he deserved it.”

“Damn straight,” Sloan agreed. “That’s what you get when you talk smack about my- _our_ lady.”

_Interesting correction_. “Producers and directors aren’t on stage much,” Geoffrey went on. “We sit out in the audience during the show, though sometimes we might also move around backstage.”

“Also like you.”

“Also like me, yes. The cast- that’s all the actors and actresses in the show- spend their time on or offstage, wherever the character they’re playing is supposed to be. And finally,” Geoffrey concluded, “you’ve got the crew, which is like your crew and roadie combined. They’re split into three groups: the stage crew, who works around the stage; the AV tech, who work in the booth down there and in that box way up there above the exit sign; and the pit—”

“There’s a pit!?”

“—sits _right there_ ,” Geoffrey said, resisting the urge to pinch his nose in irritation in favor of pointing at the space that dipped in front of the stage before the audience chairs began. “That’s where we put the musicians.”

“Right,” Sloan said after a moment. “What happened to the manager?”

“It’s a rank, not a position. Pretty much every section’s got one, and the managers have a manager above them too.”

“Cool…that all?”

“No,” Geoffrey said, twitching his fingers in a way he hoped the younger man would read as Geoffrey telling him to follow as Geoffrey walked behind the stage curtain. “Backstage we’ve got props and equipment—”

“—Actor Gear?”

“Actor Gear, yes, and things just in case of an emergency like spare scripts, fire extinguishers, extra parts of scenery and costumes—”

“And a leather couch,” Sloan said, flopping down before Geoffrey’s eyes right onto it, the cushions giving off a dull, thudding sound in the process.

“Yes.”

“What’s this here for?”

“Ah, normally for folks to sit on in between scenes…I’ve also slept on it a bit _?”_

_“_ Wiping out after the show.”

Geoffrey nodded. “And of course, some directors use it as a casting couch, though I’d never.”

“A casting couch?”

Geoffrey stared as the other man sprawled out. “You’ve _never_ heard of a casting couch.”

Sloan shook his head. “Does it have something to do with auditioning?”

“It’s…supposed to, but sometimes directors will ask you for something else.”

“Like what?”

“Like a-a special performance.”

“A special- what, like, like _sex_?” Sloan asked, hurriedly getting off the couch and glancing at it before turning to look at Geoffrey with what Geoffrey felt was a surprisingly excited look on Sloan’s face. “Is this a _groupie_ —”

“No! No,” Geoffrey said hurriedly. “It’s just a backstage couch. The groupie stuff happens in _way_ better locations than this, trust me.”

“But some directors use it as a sex couch.”

Geoffrey sighed. “Yes some do.”

“Did the dead guy?”

“I- doubt it?” Geoffrey said, and found himself once again remarkably happy that Oliver’s ashes had floated away down the Ganges North, meaning there was no theater director ghost hanging around to give Geoffrey an answer he _really_ didn’t want to hear.

“Bro, why was that a question?!”

“I didn’t ask about the sex life of the guy!”

“Sure you didn’t.”

“I didn’t!” Geoffrey said defensively. “He was old, drunk, and died by a pig truck punching him into the pavement. How was I- did you just _roll your eyes at me_?”

“Hey, man, I’m not the one who said a truck punched people.”

“I am a _Shakespearean-trained_ _actor_. We speak _creatively_.”

“Whatever man, just don’t lie.”

“About what?”

“About the cuddle couch, dude!”

“You did _not_ just call it a cuddle couch,” Geoffrey hissed.

“I mean, seriously, you _really_ trying to tell me you haven’t christened this thing?” Sloan continued. “Guy who looks like you?”

“I’m sorry,” Geoffrey said after a moment. “Did-did you just imply you find me _attractive_?”

“I trust Ellen to like her men hot,” Sloan replied simply.

“That- that wasn’t what—”

“Cause seriously, I don’t mean to brag, but I make this leather look rad,” Sloan said gesturing at himself, “and you seem pretty hot for an old dude? I mean, you’ve got the whole Scott Summers trench-coat, wild-flaring hair down. _Why_ you’ve got a trench coat indoors I don’t get, but it seems… theatrical?”

“I find the weight comforting,” Geoffrey admitted. “And I _did_ look a lot like James Marsden back when- but what does _that_ have to do with the couch?”

“I’m just saying you could totally do the deed back here, so why not?”

“Why- who’s offering, hmm? Kate? Jack? Darren? The dead guy? You? Ellen?”

“Dude, she’d better not,” Sloan said, shoving him back a step. “ _I’m_ her man.”

“And I’m the guy the police called a suicide risk because they couldn’t take a joke after they arrested me for being a public nuisance.”

“Whoa, you back-talked the _Man_? _Bro_. That is-”

“What?”

“That is _rad_!” Sloan said, his body shaking as he laughed. “Screw it, J-dude, by _my_ man.”

“Look,” Geoffrey said, turning to look at the blond man in the face. “First off, it’s _G_ -dude. My name is spelled with a G.”

“You mean, like Chaucer?”

“You’ve read Chaucer.”

“Come on, Knight’s Tale was awesome!” Sloan told him. “Still can’t believe they got Heath Ledger to joust like that.”

“Right, they made a movie,” Geoffrey said, sighing with relief.

“What’s second?”

“Hmm?”

“You said first,” Sloan pointed out. “So second?”

“Right, second,” Geoffrey repeated. “What do you mean _your_ man?”

“Ellen’s my lady, I’m _her_ man, you’re her bad-ass ex who stabs people and riles up the cops,” Sloan said. “I dunno, I’m feeling we could probably be a thing, you know?”

Geoffrey blinked. “I don’t know what’s worse,” he said after a moment. “That you said those words together in the same sentence, or that I understood that sentence.”

“Seriously,” Sloan went on, “Ellen can be with me when it’s not race day, with you when it _is_ race day—”

“Oh gods of the theater, he’s already got a calendar,” Geoffrey grumbled, looking up at the black ceiling in the vain hope that maybe divine intervention would occur.

It did not, and Geoffrey vaguely felt offended by the lack of it

“And we can hang whenever, it could so work,” Sloan was saying. “Even if we keep it on the down-low, I _know_ nobody else at the track—”

“What is this, _Midsummer’s Night Dream_?” Geoffrey interrupted. “Sloan, you can’t just _say_ I’m your man! That’s not how that works!”

“Right,” Sloan said, nodding. “We should try it out. See if we’re sympatico.”

“I—”

“Hey, we can use the cuddle couch! Get that checked off the list.”

“ _Are you kidding me_?!” Geoffrey shouted as Sloan began to undress.

“It’s what it’s there for right?”

“I, okay, Sloan,” Geoffrey said, hoping his voice would come across as more rational than he felt. “Let’s review. You’re dating my ex-girlfriend. We are backstage in the left wing of a closed theater surrounded by a bunch of props for _Hamlet_ , and you’re- wow, you are _really_ naked now,” Geoffrey said, glancing away as the other guy shuffled his boxers off, kicking them and the rest of what Geoffrey hoped were just clothes off to the side. “This is- there’s _no_ _way_ we can possibly have _sex_ here!”

“Not if you keep that coat on.”

“Sloan!”

“Here, I’ll just—”

“Please don’t- don’t you think Ellen would think this is cheating?” Geoffrey asked, hoping as he brushed aside the hand Sloan had extended towards him that the appeal might make the other man change his mind about what was clearly an act of insanity.

“Good point,” Sloan said.

_Oh thank you sweet, merciful theater gods, he’s thinking about it_.

“I’m thinking she’d probably wrap this up into some theater breakdown thing, at least at first,” Sloan said at last. “But dude, she _loves_ us. We could _so_ win her over.”

“No way.”

“ _So_ way.”

“No, she _wouldn’t_. Trust me on that.”

“What, did you almost have a threesome back in the day?”

“Ah, no,” Geoffrey said. “She did cheat on me with our director, but I recently learned that was under…extenuating circumstances.”

“And did you ever do it back?”

“Do what?”

“Sleep with the director.”

“Wha-no!”

“So, revenge sex with me would make you even,” Sloan pointed out. “Sort of.”

“Are- are all motocross people like this?”

“Like what?”

“This…openly determined.”

Sloan snorted. “Dude, we’re _all_ about sticking it to the man,” he said, walking over and stretched out along the length of the couch, the motion drawing Geoffrey’s eyes to somewhere he had been trying to avoid looking. “On and off the track.”

“I—”

“ _I_ thought actors were all into this sort of thing though,” he went on. “What, is a moto-crosser looking to get down too wild for you?”

“I can’t believe this,” Geoffrey muttered, forcing his eyes shut. “You, too wild? I’ll have you know _I’m_ the reason why Ellen’s got a bed with a metal that has built-in handles.”

“Dude, I love that thing! Thank you!”

“…you’re welcome?”

“So if you’re up for it, let’s do the deed, man,” Sloan insisted. “I’m ready, you’re ready.”

“I am _not_ ready.”

“Ah, Not-so-little Geoffrey is definitely ready my good sir.”

Geoffrey opened his eyes and stared at Sloan, gazing at the very nude racer where he lounged. It was true that he was handsome, forceful, and a little daring- the kind of person Geoffrey might’ve attempted to sleep with back in college. And Geoffrey had to admit there was something kind of…reassuringly karmic about the whole thing. It was dubious, though, the kind of a thing a sane, responsible man and theater director wouldn’t do.

For a brief moment Geoffrey actually weighed having sex with the man he once had teased Ellen about as being her boy-toy against _not_ having sex with him and retaining some semblance of sanity. A very brief moment, one aided greatly by the knowledge nobody thought Geoffrey was sane anyway.

“You know what?” Geoffrey said at last. “Fine. _Fine_.”

Sloan’s face brightened. “Yeah?”

“You- yeah,” Geoffrey said, shucking off his trench coat. “Let’s _do the deed_ , as you say it.”

“Aw, hell yes!” Sloan cheered. “So G-man, you gonna put on a show for me?”

“I did. It was called _Hamlet_. You may remember hearing the applause.”

“Not what I- _dude_ , how did you get those off so fast?”

“Actor, Sloan,” Geoffrey said as he pulled off his clothes, his shirt and t-shirt landing onto the floor just as his still-belted pants and underwear dropped next to them. “I can go from naked to formal in under five seconds.”

Sloan’s eyes widened. “Man, that is so hot,” he said, shifting on the couch just enough for Geoffrey to notice his legs spreading slightly wider.

“I promise you Sloan, me undressing is nowhere near as hot as we’ll be getting tonight,” Geoffrey said as he walked towards the couch.

“Oh—” Sloan began, only to be cut off as Geoffrey, bracing his arms against the couch, leaned over across the younger man and kissed him.

[ _The next morning, after a deep sleep followed by an enthusiastic repeat, which was in turn followed by Geoffrey and Sloan rushing to use a shower located in one of the backstage dressing rooms before the cast showed up, the two men agreed to broach the topic with Ellen soon. Geoffrey was only_ slightly _miffed when soon turned out to be not-so-soon and Sloan had to leave town for the race season, though he figured they’d bring it up the next time Sloan was in town._

_Geoffrey was right. They did, much to their- and, surprisingly, Ellen’s- mutual satisfaction.]_


End file.
